


The Fall

by xantissa



Category: Castlevania: Lords of Shadow, 悪魔城ドラキュラ | Castlevania Series
Genre: Blood Play, Dracula falls again, First Time, Fluff, Incest, M/M, Magic, Overstimulation, Romance, Vampires, light d/s themes, mild violence, shape shifting, wolf - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-13
Updated: 2017-08-13
Packaged: 2018-12-15 00:52:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11795028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xantissa/pseuds/xantissa
Summary: Dracula is not Gabriel Belmont anymore. He is not human, the darkness rooted too deep in his soul. His incorruptible son fascinates him, Alucard's choices are strange and frustrating, yet mesmerising.





	The Fall

**Author's Note:**

> So I fell in love with another tiny fandom, and am aware that maybe 10 people will ever read this story but it's vampires! I love vampires! Especially badass ones!
> 
> Thanks to Cleo4u2 and NurseDarry for being extra fast betas and just wonderful beings all together.

 

 

Dracula looked down at Alucard. The final fight had left his son broken, the life draining from him. Though Alucard had fought Satan’s possession, he had not been able to overcome it. He had fought hard, though, hard enough that the Devil had had to resort to the empty threat: that Dracula couldn’t defeat Satan without taking Alucard’s life as well. Dracula hadn’t bought the lie, but it was only because Alucard had not gone easily; his will strong, his soul fierce enough that, even though he had lost the fight with Satan, he had shredded Satan's being. Dracula was certain that was what had let him defeat Satan in the end.

Now, Alucard was depleted and, without help, would die. His immortality was similar to Dracula's own, stemming from him as it did, but not as all-encompassing. While Dracula was all but invulnerable, Alucard - his… son? - was not.

Yes, _technically_ the white-haired vampire had been created from Gabriel's biological son. However, the only relationship Dracula had experienced with Trevor was through his visions - dreams that had promised only mirages of memory. The boy of those visions had never thought warmly of his father. By ten, Trevor had been firmly in the grip of the Brotherhood of Light, learning to fight, to kill, to hate his own kin.

A fresh wave of hatred for the Brotherhood - who had denied Dracula his son, his own flesh and blood - rose inside him, causing power to leak into his hands, manifesting as the Chaos Gauntlets. Flames flickered from the smoke like armor, covering his hands, shaping his fingers into long claws. His blood roared for destruction at the sheer gall of the Brotherhood and his own loss. The anger was a living thing, like the Dragon that had given him his name. For so long, he had fought and struggled, only to be betrayed by both the humans he sought to save, and the god he had served.

Now, Alucard lay beneath his feet, his life weak and thready. With effort Dracula stilled his rage, dismissed the power that flowed through his blood, so the gauntlets vanished into trails of smoke. Then Dracula made his choice, bringing his wrist to his mouth. Using his fangs, he shredded the flesh between the straps of his own armor, ripping open veins until his blood spurted freely, running down his arm to his fingers. It splattered over Alucard's nearly translucent, white skin.

Dracula had never been that pale; never...

He watched his thick, nearly black blood fall across Alucard's cheek and lips, watched those lips part as the scent woke the most primal part of him. It wasn't true, Dracula realized, his previous thought. He had been that pale once, when he had woken up from his thousand-year long sleep, from starvation, exhaustion, and weakness.

Alucard twitched at his feet, his eyes open, but unseeing. He reached blindly for Dracula’s wrist, for the blood and power that had created him. Without hesitation, Dracula lowered his arm, giving his son the blood he so desperately needed, and stared at the contrast of their skin. His was pink and flushed with the life he had stolen, the power he’d taken from his enemies. Alucard was like a vampire of folklore, blue tint to his skin, where it wasn’t grey.

Fangs scraped bone, rendered flesh as Alucard bit deeply into Dracula's wrist. The pain raced up Dracula’s arm, but he remained still, letting Alucard have his fill. There was a curious sense of pleasure curling in his chest, pushing away rage, if only for a moment. He watched the way's Alucard's dark lips pressed tightly to his skin, the way he gulped greedily, and felt warmth spread throughout in his body. Pushing power into his blood, Dracula let Alucard have that, too. More than the blood, it restored his child. Alucard's body healed, returning from the brink of eternal stillness. Yet it was too much. The power was starting to burn Alucard, just as it had healed him.

It was too much.

Harshly, Dracula pushed Alucard away. His son's fangs ripped his flesh further as he fell back, too weak to resist. Landing on his side, Alucard’s lungs shuddered for each breath, hands shaking as he struggled to climb to his feet. His long hair fell across his face, the heavy mass shiningly soft, as much a contrast to Dracula’s long, untamed mane as their skin.

His mind flickered with strange thoughts: how all that hair would feel between his fingers and where Trevor had gotten his coloring. His mother had had raven black hair and Gabriel Belmont’s hadn’t been much lighter than her’s. Where did this pale creature come from? What was it in Gabriel's blood that had given birth to a boy so unlike both Gabriel and Dracula, yet, somehow, so similar?

Shuddering and groaning, Alucard’s body fought to contain the blood and power he had consumed so recklessly. Dracula could see it hurt him, but he found it endlessly fascinating that his blood had not destroyed Alucard the way it would any other being. No human and only a few demons could survive contact with the essence of his magic. Yet Alucard managed. Weak and shuddering, groaning in confusion and pain, Alucard held on, changing the power into his own.

_Changing_ it. It was a curious thought born in that moment. That this creature of his creation - so weak, nowhere near an equal - was so resistant to corruption. This gave Dracula hope, even as he worried Alucard would make the same mistakes he had, give in to the darkness, the same way his father had before him.

Crouching beside Alucard, Dracula brushed a hand over his pale hair, pulling it away from an even paler face. It was soft and warm, surprisingly so, as he dragged it down so his palm covered Alucard's eyes.

" _Sleep_ ,” Dracula whispered, the word laced with too much power for Alucard to resist in his weakened state. Alucard collapsed, his body sliding to the ground like water. Crouching over Alucard’s - his son's - unconscious body, Dracula just looked for a long moment, the rising sun casting its first pink rays on Alucard’s hair so it shone like silver. Only then did Dracula slide his hands under Alucard’s unconscious lanky body and rose, turning to his castle.

* * *

The castle was still Dracula’s; his home, his prison. The only place he belonged. The cursed blood was gone, the pools that could change a human into a demon; proof that Dracula's will had outgrown his weakness. There was still darkness inside him - he _had_ discarded his humanity in favor of hatred and vengeance thousands of years ago - but he was too stubborn to let his rage control him. It was still alive inside in him, squirming in his very heart, for God had abandoned him, even before he had fallen. Though He had wanted Dracula to take up the mantle of the Prince of Darkness, Dracula would not give Him the pleasure. _Nobody_ would rule him. Nobody would be his master; not God, not Satan, not even his own weakness.

That was why Satan had never wanted to come into this world while Dracula was still alive and be forced to fight him. As much as Satan was cruel, Dracula was merciless, giving the fallen angel no foothold in his mind. Without that, or a weakness to latch onto, the Devil had had no hope of winning, and he damn well knew it.

Alucard's body was light in Dracula’s arms as he walked through the castle. His son’s head lolled listlessly against Dracula’s shoulder as he walked, power imbuing the old stone again with every step he took. He felt each stone, each corrupt creature lurking in the shadows, and Dracula pushed his mind at them. Taking the remnants of their will, he shackled them to his own. They had served him before, following the pull of his darkness. Now they would be enslaved again, extensions of his will and nothing more.

With a thought, the corridors and walls rearranged themselves around him, the walls and floors falling away as rooms and hallways passed him in the blink of an eye. Only when Dracula stopped, his bedroom growing into existence around him, did the shifting halt, the castle still. At the center of the room, the massive fireplace crackled warmly within the huge maw of the stone dragon situated across from the canopy bed piled high with pillows and lush silks. It had been turned down invitingly for him to place Alucard’s limp body upon it.

The huge wood carved bed frame dwarfed his son, making his wide shoulders and powerful build appear small and vulnerable. Something warm and pleased bloomed in Dracula's heart at the sight of Alucard’s serene features. The black-on-red armor he wore, that of Zobek's bodyguard, didn't suit his son at all. He belonged in bright colors, armor more befitting his frame, soft and understated, not the crass colors, the primitive way this sought to terrify simple minds with its sharp edges and dark hues.

With a grimace of distaste, Dracula laid his hand on the chest plate and _pushed_. His power cracked the enchanted metal of the armor, disintegrating it. The pale expanse of Alucard's body was exposed as the dust fell away. He was pale all over except for a faint, bluish tint that disquieted Dracula. When he had first seen Alucard, he had accepted that this appearance was created by Dracula's own blood, a part of being a vampire. Now having experienced a thousand years of starvation, Dracula suspected it was more. It was that Alucard was _starving_.

Dracula’s own body was merely a manifestation of his power, an extension he could control at will; a mockery of God creating man in his own image. Pain of battle rarely stopped him as it was nothing compared to the burning rage within him. Yet, for Alucard - for his son - the body he possessed was his last tie to humanity. A source of pain that Dracula could not understand. Alucard's body was perfect: his wide shoulders held the promise of development, like a foal; there was a sense of something unfinished about him even though Alucard was taller and broader than he himself. He had so much potential, it hurt to look at him. Though a good pain. A connection. A promise.

An equal.

One day, sometime soon, Alucard would the closest thing to an equal Dracula had ever had. The implications were profound. His heart, cold and dead for so long, beat and twisted in his chest painfully.

His son.

His equal.

His prophesized killer.

Placing his hand on the wide spread of Alucard's muscular chest, the sharp tips of Dracula’s fingernails pressed into Alucard's skin despite his careful touch. Faint pink welts were left behind, barely bleeding. With a burst of acrid magic that filled the room with the scent of blood, Dracula dispelled his armor and coat, the edges sharper than his hands. Arms and shoulders bare, he put his hand back onto his son's chest, beside deep dark bruises. Damage from falling after their fight. Alucard's body was still fighting against the power it had consumed, trying to make it his own. It was a strange feeling to sense his own power inside Alucard. It wasn’t his anymore. It had changed, unresponsive to his orders. Different, yet similar.

With his fingertips, Dracula gathered the few tiny drops of blood that had oozed from the cuts he’d left behind. The blood smelled like winter and smoke, crisp and dark. He licked, the rich taste exploding on his tongue in half-realized memories, anger, pain, and a will carved out of rock. This was so different than the fire and brimstone taste of his own blood.

He brought his hand and his eyes back to Alucard's body and the scar, hidden before by the ugly armor, from where he had been cut down in battle so long ago. Trevor Belmont had died fighting the great evil he had despised his entire life - his own father. The scar was large and jagged, bisecting Alucard's stomach and curling onto his ribs. This had been the death blow, one Dracula was still conflicted over. Regret mixed with rage at the memory. The Brotherhood had hidden the existence of his child from him, raised him to hate the very concept of his father, then sent him out to end Dracula’s life. As if a boy so young could hope to match Dracula.

This body was alive, though. Scarred and starving, yet powerful. Muscles lay beneath thin skin, firm and defined. Alucard’s body, like Dracula's, was nearly hairless, just a few curls surrounding his soft defenseless cock. The organ was long enough to rest against his thigh, drawing Dracula’s eyes down his lean legs, to his feet. Alucard’s whole body was a beautiful symphony of strength and elegance.

Dracula's own body was far different. Though he was a warrior first and foremost, he was the Dragon, power incarnate, and there was no gentleness to him. No elegance, no soft curves. All the clean lines of Alucard's body must have came from his mother, because they damn well did not come from Gabriel.

Skimming his hand lower, down Alucard’s stomach, Dracula let himself investigate the long, strong muscles of Alucard’s thigh and his vulnerable cock. For all its deathly pallor, his skin felt smooth and inexplicably human; precious. Dracula’s long nails left faint white marks; better than slicing through skin, but still displeasing. He pursed his lips, reforming his hand so that the black nails were short and blunt. Like his castle, his body was merely an extension of his will.

Even now, Dracula could feel Alucard's body was slowly absorbing the power fed to it, making it his own. Driven by curiosity, Dracula let more seep from his hand, just the heat of it, creating goosebumps on Alucard’s skin in the wake of his touch.

Then Alucard arched, his chest expanding on a sharply indrawn breath.

Dracula left his hand on Alucard's belly, oozing power into him, and reached with his other to push strands of messy hair from Alucard’s face. His eyes were open again, the dark sclera and yellow pupils disturbing. They were not the red of a vampire, not like any Dracula had seen before, yet still oddly beautiful.

"It's all right," Dracula said, hoping to reassure. "You are safe."

The golden wolf's eyes turned toward him and focused on him with a steadiness that continuously confounded him. Where did it came from, that calm strength of character? That indomitable conviction? Did it exist because the world had yet to turn against him, the way it had turned on Dracula?

"I am, aren't I?" Alucard murmured, as though musing to himself. He propped himself up on his elbows, his gaze holding Dracula’s all the while. "Even though I sought your death many times - even though I promised to bring you death - I am safe with you."

Alucard was right. Never once since he had laid eyes on his re-born son had Dracula wished his death. Dracula had no patience for enemies. He preferred to kill them as quickly as possible, preferably erasing their entire bloodlines so that their end was final. Yet, he hadn’t even desired to _fight_ Alucard, feeling regret and a… connection to him. Perhaps. It was something rare, something he had never felt until now.

"You are still weak," Dracula replied instead of answering, not willing to address the implications of Alucard's words just yet. "My blood will heal you.”

Letting the nail on his thumb elongate into a sharp claw, Dracula reached towards his own neck, cutting the skin there. Not deeply enough the blood gushed forth, but enough that it flowed freely down the juncture with his shoulder, pooling in the hollow of his collarbone before trickling down his chest. Alucard followed its path, golden eyes wide, black lips parted, but hesitant.

"Drink," Dracula encouraged, but added warningly, "until my blood corrupts you too.”

Alucard's eyes snapped back up, wide with bloodlust. His nostrils flared, the hunger so clear in his face it was painful. There was a steadiness in his voice, however, when he answered. "You cannot corrupt me."

Dracula smiled, his fangs peeking from between his lips.

"You sound sure of yourself."

"You cannot corrupt me," Alucard repeated, the words strangely seeming a promise.

Dracula reached for his son’s hair. It was soft and warm under his palm, and he pulled his head closer until he could feel those cool lips against his chest, lapping at the dripping blood.

"Drink." He tangled his fingers into the locks, giving him a handhold to ensure he could pull his son away if he attempted to take too much. "Be healed."

Despite Dracula’s precautions, Alucard was careful not to let his bloodlust win. Dracula could see it in the way he carefully inched forward gathering the spilled blood on his tongue. Methodically and thoroughly, Alucard cleaned each drop, his tongue wet and gentle as it travelled further and further up, reaching his collarbone where he paused to drink the blood gathered in the hollow.

This close, Dracula could smell the scent on Alucard's body, the winter and smoke, could feel the _potential_ in his son's body. He tightened his fist a little to feel his movements better. Alucard let out a gentle exhalation, the first sound he had made since he started to drink, against the wet skin of Dracula’s chest. Something powerful came to life within him. It was new and fragile and unnamed, but it curled up in his heart beside the wide yawning abyss of rage that had filled him with so much power. It oozed from him, making his skin pink and healthy, his lips and eyes as red as blood. Over the centuries, Dracula had been touched by countless hands; his deceased wife, lovers here and there, innumerable succubi and demons. He had tasted all the pleasures of the flesh and the mind, yet the way Alucard kept licking the blood off of him with ever increasing ardor was inexplicably new and exciting.

The younger vampire either didn't realize or didn't care that he was naked and all but climbing into Dracula's lap in his quest to gather more power. Dracula could already see the difference in his son: the chill of his body receding, a sparkle of power curling just beneath his skin. Alucard’s lips remained soft against Dracula's neck, careful when he sucked at the self-inflicted wound, gently prodding it with his tongue so it would bleed again. The barest brush of fangs caressed his skin from time to time, where Alucard danced at the edge of his control. The more he drank, the more of Dracula's raw power he consumed, the fiercer the hunger became, and the looser the reign on his control.

Dracula gripped his son's thigh, feeling the muscle jump under his hand, and pulled. Alucard went with the motion, sliding neatly into his lap, the large body folding itself impossibly tightly to fit in Dracula's embrace, straddling him. Alucard’s hands rose to Dracula's shoulders, holding him steady as he sucked harder, his throat working to swallow all the blood he could get. Dracula knew the power, the blood, the energy felt good. Even when ripping others from the inside out, it felt good. Like every sin, like vengeance; it was the sweetest destruction, and Alucard's body struggled to process it.

To his surprise, being fed from also felt good. Dracula’s cock was hard, curving against Alucard's belly, trailing a line of precome over them both. Alucard didn't seem to be aware of it at all though, his focus only on his feeding, instinctively wanting to widen the fount, yet resisting. His heart was pounding, small, growling sounds leaving his throat as his nails dug deep into Dracula's shoulders, puncturing skin and muscle.

Dracula could sense the power Alucard had taken was swirling inside him, fighting with his own energy. It was both too much and not enough. Alucard was like a starving man offered a three course meal that his body couldn't hope to process. Trying to resist, knowing it would only be worse, but unable to fully resist. When he felt Alucard bite for real, Dracula yanked hard enough to pull Alucard’s head away from his neck. Golden eyes were wide and dazed, lost in hunger, and his lips were smeared with blood. It stained his chin, his cheek, dripping down his throat. He was beautiful, wretched and alive, angry at Dracula for interrupting a meal that could have killed him. Feeding from a neck was much more potent than from a wrist, the energy raw and unfiltered.

"Too much will kill you." Dracula’s own voice was curiously raspy. He was at full strength, no weakness to be found. There was no explanation.

Alucard half-whined, half-growled, the sound cut off almost as soon as it began. He was too proud to beg, even mostly lost to bloodlust, not even for something he wanted, but needed to survive. Led by instinct he didn't understand, but didn't fight, Dracula caught his son's face with his free hand and pressed his fingers against the hinge of his jaw none too gently, forcing him to open his lips wide.

"I will give you what you need," Dracula promised, more serious and intense in this moment than he could recall.

Leaning up, he pressed his open mouth to his son's and breathed power into him. Gently, filtering the corrosive potential of it, he was careful to give only life to the maddeningly interesting creature in his lap. Dracula’s skin tingled where it met Alucard's, his senses cataloging every minute shift, every change in the energies around them. He felt everything: Alucard's chest expanding, taking in the offering, how his body first tensed, then went limp when he reached his capacity, and lastly as he fell into another deep sleep.

Pleased and regretful at the same time, Dracula eased Alucard back onto the bed. He reached his hand out to the black scrabbling ones who left the shadows holding for him the softest of the furs. He pulled the covering over Alucard’s body, tucking the edges about his broad frame. His son needed rest to recover from their fight with Satan.

Now that he had a safe place for his son to sleep, Dracula had a castle to clean up. Standing, he called his armor back to him, his blood magic crawling over his body, cladding his hands, clothing him with his preferred red coat. With a last caress of that fascinatingly pale hair, Dracula left, his body melding into the shadows.

* * *

Dracula knew when Alucard left without a goodbye. The wards in his room flared to life and were snuffed out just as soon when his son left the Castle. Dracula paused, his burning gauntlet wrapped around a Demon’s head, and considered what he felt. There was some irritation, maybe even regret, but mostly... that curious sense of _connection_. Time was an insignificant thing. It would pass and he would meet Alucard again, whether as friend or foe. Anticipation wasn’t something Dracula was used to feeling anymore, and he found he liked it. Liked the way it warmed his heart, made the life he was forced to live so much more interesting.

He did not expect it to happen so soon, merely a few short months after their battle with Satan. The echo of his power flared to the surface, both familiar and alien, exactly the way Alucard's power had felt. Dracula left his battle with the demon horde he had been terrorizing in Hell, allowing them to scurry and hide, and disintegrated.

Following that faint echo of power like smoke from an extinguished campfire, Dracula found himself in the ruins of a city he did not know. Concrete and steel, it stank of sin and corruption. In a building taller than any cathedral ever built to God, beneath a scorched wall, sat Alucard. His legs were splayed haphazardly, and his sword, the Crissaegrim, rested unsheathed over his thighs. He was holding the handle lightly with one hand and his other was resting almost gently on the flat of the blade across his thighs. His chest was bare, but his hands and back were clothed in an ornate, navy coat trimmed with gold. Head tilted back, his white hair was stark against the scorched black wall. His eyes were closed, breathing uneven, the lines of his face unbearably delicate. He looked exhausted, beautiful; dangerous.

Dracula could still feel the echoes of the battle around them. The power sank into the very earth beneath the untold layers of concrete and steel. It was all proof Alucard still loved humanity enough to risk his life fighting for it.

"You won," Dracula murmured, approaching the resting figure. The warmth that curled smugly in his chest was starting to become familiar. Alucard was strong, and Dracula’s blood only made him stronger.

Alucard’s unique eyes opened a sliver, regarding him with an expression Dracula couldn't parse.

"I had a lot of time to train."

Alucard's voice was as even and smooth as ever, betraying none of the exhaustion Dracula could see in his body. At least he didn't seem to be too badly wounded, there was little blood anywhere on, or under him. Yet, something was assuredly wrong.

"Did you have the time to feed?" Dracula asked, sinking to a knee and closing his hand over the sword that had pierced his heart for a thousand years. In a way, it was like a piece of himself now, and touching it felt like welcoming a friend.

Alucard's hands fell to his sides, exhaustion sinking in.

"Not since you," Alucard admitted, his voice oddly gentle.

"And before that?" Dracula pressed.

The whiteness of Alucard's hair, his skin, the way magic fatigued him, all had weighed upon Dracula’s mind. Alucard came from a line where magic was as natural as the blood that flowed in his body. Gabriel Belmont had used magic without a toll even as a human, and Dracula could twist reality without feeling any strain. Yet magic exhausted Alucard to a dangerous point.

When Alucard didn’t answer, Dracula vanished Crissaegrim into the Void where his own weapons resided. The younger vampire just watched him from under hooded lids, saying nothing. Dracula’s power wrapped around Alucard’s body, tugging, but to no avail. Apparently, he couldn't unmake this body into mist and terror, the way he could his own. So instead he changed reality around them, twisting until his bedchamber came into being like a dragon spreading its wings. The dirty scorched concrete beneath them was replaced by Dracula’s massive bed, cool silk sheets sliding against their armor.

Dracula spread his clawed hand over his son's pale chest. The tips of his claw-like nails rested against pale skin, pressing none-too-gently, but not breaking skin.

"You could have asked for help."

Alucard's eyes closed, his long pale lashes sweeping his cheeks before they inched up again just enough to see, the barest hint of gold in the shadows of his eyes.

"Could I?"

Dracula felt the question asked much more than his words implied, but pretended not to understand. Discussing what he felt wasn’t what he wanted to do.

"You haven't fed."

It wasn’t a question this time; the paleness of Alucard's skin was proof.

"I never do," Alucard admitted, the thread of anger in his voice directed at him making Dracula wonder what his son felt for him. He had been raised to feel nothing but hatred, made to believe that the only way to save the humanity was to kill his father.

"And you never ask," Dracula murmured, shifting his hand to Alucard’s richly embroidered coat. The magic creating it was just like his own, but different enough to resist his push. Alucard's hand rested atop of his and a moment later, the coat disintegrated into blue sparks, leaving Alucard’s upper body bare.

Looking into Alucard’s gold eyes, Dracula caused his own coat to melt away, but didn't wait for an answer, already tired of the conversation that circled topics which did nothing but rile his anger. Wordlessly, he slashed a long gash into his own flesh. Alucard surged forward, but arrested his movement just as sharply.

"Is the bloodlust harder to control?" Dracula asked, uncertain if his intention was to tease or taunt. Alucard had claimed Dracula’s blood could not corrupt him, but that was not something Dracula could believe. Evil lived in hearts of men, and sooner or later, something would destroy this thin veneer of control. Everybody fell, even God's chosen ones.

"You can't corrupt me," his son declared, absolute conviction in his quiet voice.

Alucard's pale hand rose to rest on Dracula's shoulder, cold, strong fingers curling over the ridge of muscle, then digging in harshly.

"You do not ask, either," Alucard growled, flipping them on the bed and pressing him down, arching over Dracula like a pale, beautiful ghost.

Dracula hid his clawed nails and reached up to touch all that fascinating white hair falling over Alucard's shoulders, the ends tickling Dracula's chest, soaking up blood. He fisted his hand in the soft tresses and Alucard tilted into the grip, waiting, letting Dracula get a better hold before he straddled him, bent down, and slotted his lips against the fresh wound.

Hair brushed against Dracula’s jaw, the weight of his son's body against his belly, a single hand keeping him still. Alucard's lips were cool and so very soft against his skin, fangs sometimes touching, but never breaking his skin, never taking what Alucard so obviously wanted: everything.

"Take it," Dracula growled, pulling harshly at the mass of white hair in his fist. "Take it if you want it, damn it."

Alucard remained tense as a bow, the low growl leaving his throat befitting an animal more than a vampire.

"I will," Alucard tore his mouth from the wound, blood staining his lips and chin, "just as soon as you do."

"I have made the wrong choice once before," Dracula admitted. "I'm not keen on repeating the mistake."

The thing was he had acted rashly once before and killed his son Trevor. All his regret couldn't change that he had snapped that potential connection. He had tried to save Trevor, but his blood had given him Alucard, not Trevor. Dracula wasn't sure what to feel about that. On one hand, he ached for the child he had never known, for the opportunity of being a father. On the other, Alucard was intriguing, smart, could become his equal. And, oh, but Dracula did not want to miss out this time.

Yet, it felt presumptuous to ask, even with Alucard's slowly-plumping cock visible beneath the cloth of his pants and the bloodlust lighting his golden eyes. Dracula did not move. He watched the spill of his pale hair, face marred with scars fainter now, and couldn't decide.

He tightened his grip on Alucard’s hair and used it to pull his resisting son toward his bleeding chest, unwilling to continue the conversation. Alucard's body disintegrated under his hands though, the weight of the powerful warrior disappearing into a swarm of bats, screeching high and angry as they fluttered from one end of the chamber to the other, looking for escape, but merely forced to change direction whenever Dracula's wards flared a warning.

Dracula closed his eyes, letting the wards drop. Letting his son leave. He hadn’t answered the question; he understood. At least if Alucard could transform, he was no longer exhausted.

With an irritated huff, Dracula rolled out of bed, the blood magic crawling over his body so that by the time his feet hit the floor his armored coat was again around his shoulders, the clawed armguards clicking as he curled his hands into firsts. He headed for the stained glass balcony door, the glittering panes opening before him, and onto the the stone ledge overlooking the city the humans had built inside his walls.

Stupid creatures.

Jumping over the edge, Dracula fell, feeling the cold night air pull at his hair and clothes. As he did, he jerked his hand in a sharp, slashing motion, ripping the fabric or reality apart, and fell through the rift, landing hard on sun-baked ground. The impact cracked the stone beneath him as well as a thin layer of sandy soil, creating a knee-deep crater.

Straightening from his crouch, he called the Chaos Claws to him, craving the burn and the rage. In the instant they materialized around his hands, he felt the familiar presence of the Void Sword eagerly awaiting his command, but a different presence as well. Crissaegrim, he realized, still tucked away in his private dimension. He wondered what Alucard would do without it. Would he fight with a different weapon, or would he fight without any?

The skittering sensation of a dark power nearby pulled his attention from the thought. Satan had ruled Hell before his destruction, but he wasn't the only power here.

It was time to track down the competitors.

* * *

Dracula stared at his bed, confounded. Alucard had not left the Castle. The Castle, much like his body, was just an extension of his mind now. He had been too preoccupied figuring out the Hell dimension's rulers to realize where his son was. It turned out he was in Dracula's bedroom. On his bed. Curled up with his back to the door, which Dracula took as a pointed statement. Not that he was human. He was a white wolf the size of a small horse.

Scratching the bridge of his nose, Dracula was unwilling to admit he was a little confused by this turn of events.

Alucard as a wolf was massive, just as muscular, with long fur the color of the white hair that both fascinated and saddened Dracula. The way he was curled up in a tight ball, his fluffy tail covering his long snout, would have been cute if it hadn’t been for the fact that Dracula’s massive bed could barely contain the creature.

"I think you are bigger in this form," he mused, approaching, even as he discarded the Chaos Gauntlets with a thought so as to touch the soft looking fur. Surprisingly, it wasn't soft at all. Thick and coarse, it would serve well as protection from claws and teeth. When Dracula let some of his power seep out, the fur flickered blue as Alucard's own power fought the foreign one.

The wolf huffed, his massive chest expanding briefly. Dracula circled him, hand buried in the glorious fur, until he could sit at the edge of the bed. The wolf had eyelashes just as long as Alucard’s, his lids resolutely closed as he ignored Dracula with all his being. Unable to help himself, Dragula tugged one of the pointed ears poking from the massive ruff. It flopped down immediately, flattened against Alucard’s skull, so he reached for the other one, noting its velveteen feel. A moment later, it flattened too, and Alucard pulled his snout out from under his tail to bare his impressive fangs, his gold-on-black eyes opening (and so very fitting this form).

Dracula reached out his hand again and summoned his son's sword, the long thin blade coming eagerly. Turning it, he placed it over the bed and watched as the wolf put a proprietary paw on the naked blade.

"I don't want to destroy you," Dracula said quietly, raking his hand though the coarse fur at the back of the wolf's neck.

A shift in power and the body under his hand changed, shimmering and elongating. From a shivering blue mist, his son's body emerged, the blue armored coat adding weight and heft to his shoulders, his white hair falling messily over his forehead. His golden eyes looked at Dracula with the same confidence as before; not a hint of hesitation.

"Your _blood_ cannot corrupt me." Alucard’s eyes lowered, trailing from Dracula's eyes to his lips, then to his neck and exposed chest. " _You_ can not corrupt me." Alucard looked back into Dracula's eyes. "I won't allow it."

So it came down to trust. Dracula trusting Alucard was strong enough to withstand his power. Trust that Alucard knew what he was doing and for what he was asking.

"Have you truly never fed from anyone but me?" Dracula asked, mind shying away from considering the... _invitation_ that Alucard had given him; the permission.

Alucard tilted his head sideways, sitting on his heels and regarding Dracula with curious eyes.

"No."

Dracula examined the blue coat, how beautiful it was with its gold trimmings and dragonscale design on the shoulders.

"Why? You might have outgrown me during my sleep if you did."

It was a lie and Dracula knew it even as he said it. His rage and pain were endless, the bitter hatred a being in itself, rooting him in darkness. There was a reason Satan had gone out of his way to avoid tangling with him. The visions he had of his wife and his son meant he had paid his dues when saving humanity (again), but evil ran deep within him. As much as he would like to believe his torment had a purpose, the bitter side of him refused to accept it.

Alucard huffed, resting his armored hands against Dracula's shoulders. He was tall and powerful, yet lean enough to remain graceful. It mesmerized Dracula more than it probably should. Yet, it wasn't the awareness of sin that made him hesitate. It was a simple desire not to harm this particular being.

"Thank you for the compliment, as undeserved as it is.., Father." Alucard's voice was soft and quiet, deeper than Dracula's own, making him smile despite the sting of Alucard's words.

"Why have you changed?" Dracula asked, looking into those golden eyes. "When did you give up the anger that drove you to your death in my Castle all those years ago?"

Alucard lowered his gaze, long lashes fanning his cheeks. Dracula raised both clawless hands to his son’s pale face and pushed the white strands away from his brow, taking in his sculpted features, high cheekbones, wide, dark grey lips; the smooth line of his neck that branched into powerful shoulders, and an even more powerful chest. The way Alucard was built, Dracula would love to see him fight two-handed. There was something in his stance, in the way he held himself, that told Dracula he knew how to fight with two blades in the elegant style of old masters, not the sloppy way younger fighters learned.

"When you gave me your blood," Alucard licked his lips and Dracula followed the gesture with his eyes, "I could taste your pain and your rage." Alucard’s gaze remained fearless and steady, just as when he had offered the plan to kill Satan. The same as when he had pushed his sword into Dracula's heart and called him Father for the first time. "I was taught to hate you before I was taught to walk. I was taught you were a soulless monster, a creature of pure darkness, a betrayer of the human race. A disgrace. The only way to restore my honor, was with your blood." Exhaling and closing his eyes, Alucard turned his head to press his cheek against the hand Dracula was using to hold back his hair. “When you gave me your blood, I felt your loneliness, your confusion, and the hatred that drove you to burn down the world; the betrayal that still festers in your soul.

“But I also felt the regret for my mother and the love you had for her… for the son that was denied you." He opened his eyes, gaze softer than in any living creature Dracula had seen. "I was taught there is nothing human about you, but that's not true. You feel. You love and hate, rage against injustice done to you like anyone else. It's just that your feelings... they are so much more powerful than a mere mortal can understand."

"Make no mistake," Dracula rumbled, chest tight at the understanding in Alucard's eyes, "the darkness is rooted within me. It is a part of me now. I will never forgive God or humanity. Just as they cursed me, so shall I curse them, by my very existence."

Dracula fisted the hair he was holding, pulling, his voice low and dark. His hatred was endless and he would not forgive. Never forgive.

"But you have reached a balance," Alucard protested. "I'm not asking you to forgive. I'm not asking you to let go of your anger." He slid the palm of his hand against Dracula's chest and let his armored coat disappear into a shower of sparks around him. "All I ask is that you let other things into your heart. That you keep this balance you have made for yourself."

Dracula pursed his lips and let go of the white hair, watching it fall messily around Alucard's face, his naked shoulders and chest. It hung to his waist, unlike anything he would have expected of his warrior son.

"If I could feel so much in your blood," Alucard whispered, "will you feel the same in mine?”

Dracula's breath hitched, unfamiliar desire twisting his insides. Alucard was offering his _blood_ to Dracula. Not as a means of healing him. He was willing to give Dracula a way to breach the thousand-year divide between them. A way for Dracula to know him, at long last. He could have always taken it, forced his son down and bit him, but this would be so much sweeter. Freely given, invited...

"Do you understand what you are offering?" Dracula trailed his fingers along the sharp jut of Alucard's tendons, down to the hollow of his throat. His heart pounded in his chest, fangs lowering in anticipation. He wanted to taste that blood, wanted to drink Alucard in and have everything of his. "You know I am not one for moderation."

Alucard smiled almost gently, and Dracula could feel the way he swallowed, the cool skin under his fingertips moving.

"Yes, father."

Sliding the hand he had on Alucard's throat up and back into the mass of white hair, Dracula gently brushed it aside, exposing Alucard’s neck. His son followed, golden eyes half open and fixed on Dracula, leaning so more was offered.

"I have warned you," Dracula said, almost angry, his fangs bared. "If I start this, I might not stop until I have had my fill."

Alucard nodded, the gesture tugging at the grip Dracula had on his hair.

"Yes."

Still so calm, so sure of himself. It drove Dracula a little mad, this absolute conviction. Launching forward, he bit down hard. Blood spurted from the wound straight into his mouth. Alucard hissed, but remained still, so he bit down again and again, widening the fount, causing pain, but he didn't care. All he wanted was to know, to feel all those things he couldn't understand about Alucard. And there it was. Burning shame and hatred old as dust, both familiar and alien, like a belief taken from somebody else. The love he felt for his mother, the sweet confidence of knowing she had loved him too, even after he had been reborn a monster. His anger, deep and dark, at being forced to live as a vampire - a creature he despised. And Dracula... All that Alucard felt toward him.

Dracula drank deeper and harder, unaware of the hands digging into his shoulders as he pulled Alucard’s body closer. He bit down again, taking more, striving to know, to understand. There was so much, so many conflicting feelings, from pride to disgust - across the entire spectrum. Dracula might have felt it, but he was no closer to understanding and he had to _know_.

Ripping his mouth from the messy wound he had created, Dracula surged up, his hand tighter in Alucard's hair as he pressed his bloody mouth against his son's lips to breathe power into him. Alucard gasped in surprise, and then was kissing him. Dracula pushed, toppling them onto the bed. His clothes dissipated, leaving him bare as the power sluiced over Alucard, stinging, breaking the bonds that held together his clothing until he was as naked as Dracula.

Alucard's hands were at Dracula’s shoulders. They weren’t pushing him away, though. They were curled, clawed fingernails digging in as Alucard opened and let Dracula in. He tasted like his blood, like ice, and smoke.

Dracula couldn’t get enough.

Kissing Alucard harder, thrusting his tongue inside, mapping the soft, openly-offered cavern. The rest of his senses spun under the onslaught of emotions, the memories of the blood burning inside him. He let himself feel his own body to the fullest extent, let himself experience it in ways he hadn’t in a long time. Let himself react with something other than anger and rage.

Alucard pulled at him, fingernails breaking skin as he arched into the kiss. His body, one long expanse of muscle and bone pressed against his, cool skin a contrast to Dracula’s heated body. Breaking the kiss, he breathed more power into Alucard, feeling the bite heal, even if he couldn't see it, and felt his cock fill against Dracula’s belly, hard from the overcharge of power alone.

Opening his legs, Alucard let Dracula settle between them, sliding his hard smooth thighs over Dracula’s, cool skin, so delicately it made Dracula shiver and kiss him again, harder. Dracula moaned, loving the taste. He loved the closeness, the touch, the very connection. The body beneath his hands was so hard, a warrior's body with rigid muscles and scars, but soft and welcoming as well. He dragged his lips down Alucard’s smooth cheek, to his neck where he bit again. Not hard enough to tear blood vessels, but enough to bruise and feel a few drops of blood on his tongue.

Dracula slid his hand between their bellies, wrapped it around the hard length of Alucard’s cock, and gave it a tug.

“Ah!” Alucard cried, twisting beneath Dracula, nails scoring his back, fanning his desire ever higher. He _wanted_ Alucard. Wanted to own him, possess him, unmake him, strip him of all that careful control. He _wanted_.

There was... no hesitation, but a certain reserve in Alucard’s body. Dracula brought his mouth to that hard chest, fangs sinking into a plump pectoral muscle, drawing blood. He sucked, looking for answers, for the reason for this resistance. Pleasure exploded behind his eyes, sweet and deep, so full it made him groan as he shared his son’s emotions. He dug deeper, beyond the pleasure of touch, beyond the connection and carnal lust he was giving Alucard by mercilessly stroking his son’s cock. Just as Alucard changed from scouring Dracula’s back with his nails to tangling his fingers into Dracula’s hair, he caught it -

And then Alucard pulled away sharply, forcing Dracula's head up and making him growl.

“You could have asked,” Alucard panted, his lips no longer grey but slightly pink, all the power Dracula had breathed into him giving him an appearance of life.

Looking into those gold liquid eyes with just a hint of red, Dracula could feel the curious warmth spread from his chest, suffusing his body and his heart.

“You haven’t laid with a man before,” Dracula said, the knowledge he had pulled from the blood rattling around in his brain. The words pulled a growl from Alucard this time and he squeezed his hand around his, dragging his fist slowly up the straining organ.

“If I should let a man fuck me,” Alucard gasped with uncharacteristic crudeness, “I should at least make sure the man is impressive enough to deserve it, shouldn’t I?”

“I am no man,” Dracula growled, shifting on his knees, making Alucard spread his legs to accommodate him.

Alucard bared his fangs. His face was flushed, a few strands of hair stuck to his wet lips. The hands tangled in Dracula’s hair pulled free, slid over his chest, then lower over his belly. One palmed his cock, dripping wet with want, while the other curled about his hip.

“You might not be human, but you are definitely a man.”

“I can't promise to be gentle,” Dracula replied. He sucked two of his fingers into his mouth, laving them with his tongue until they were slick. Then he reached below Alucard’s pale heavy balls and pushed his fingers at his tight opening there.

“Hard to believe… _ah_ ,” Alucard broke off with a moan as Dracula pushed the two fingers, slow and relentless, into the tight clutch of Alucard’s body. Spit was not enough, he could feel the way his skin dragged against the smooth inner walls, could feel the way Alucard tensed up before relaxing again. “When you have been nothing but, _ah_ , careful with me.”

Dracula needed more slick, something to ease the way, and growled in frustration as he thrust his fingers inside Alucard. Bending down, he kissed Alucard again, fucking his mouth the way he wanted to fuck that body until there was movement beside him; hands offering a bowl. Dracula straightened then, pulling his hands from his son and watched Alucard turn from the demon serving them, the evidence Dracula’s fall. He did not pull away, though, and Dracula took the bowl while pushing the demon away with his will. Once it was gone, he raised the wards to lock them in.

Alucard was a vision, his pale body stretched out on the silk sheets, white hair fanned out like a halo. A slight flush had rose on Alucard’s skin as he watched Dracula. Dracula licked his lips, the beating of his heart so loud it thundered in his ears. Desire scorched him from the inside out, leaving his throat dry and inspiring a burning thirst to feel more, have more of Alucard.

Dripping oil from the bowl onto Alucard’s belly, Dracula watched his muscles quiver. He didn’t stop there, enjoying Alucard’s reaction as he poured more over his cock, resting hopefully on his belly, and then over his tight balls. Not caring about the mess, Dracula set the bowl aside, then flattened both palms over the oil-slick flesh, smearing it, sending Alucard’s breath to panting as he passed his palms over Alucard’s silky, sensitive cock. The firm belly rose and fell in time with the rapid breathing even as Dracula slipped into the juncture of Alucard’s legs, spread so invitingly for him.

Pushing his fingers back inside Alucard was easier, the oil slicking the way so he pulled out and came back with three. Alucard moaned, arching his back, and Dracula felt the corner of his lips pull up as he curled his fingers, searching for _that_ spot inside. He knew he’d found it when Alucard jerked as if stung, a bitten off curse at his lips, and his arm flew up to clutch at the headboard.

There was indescribable beauty in the tension of his body, the way Alucard’s pecs tightened, the tendons on his neck standing out, inviting a bite. Helpless to his desire, Dracula took hold of a sinfully long leg, pulled it to his mouth, bit down unerringly. Alucard mewled, body arching further, his free hand flying to Dracula’s hair, pulling. Dracula bit down again, drinking deeply, sharing his son’s pleasure until he was dizzy with the burning ache of Alucard’s cock, mostly untouched while Dracula’s fingers fucked him. Alucard’s body was giving in sweetly, the tight muscles clutching, but not keeping him out.

“Please,” Alucard moaned, hoarse and low, wrecked, and Dracula hadn’t even _started_ on him yet. It was the first time his son had begged, or asked for what he needed, though. Dracula pulled himself from the wound, pulled his fingers from Alucard’s body and wiped the rest of the oil on his weeping cock. Stretching over Alucard, he lined up his cock and thrust mercilessly past his tight ring. Dracula moaned at the tight clutch of Alucard’s body around him, the way the resistance had given way, and he slid in until his balls pressed to Alucard’s.

The pleasure was near intolerable as Alucard dragged him closer by his hair and bit his outstretched neck. His fangs pierced Dracula’s skin without hesitation, boldly seeking what he wanted. With a growl, Dracula grabbed his hips, pulling him off the bed, and slammed into him hard with as much power as his body would allow. The pleasure burst within him, spread inside his body, and coiled tighter and tighter in his belly as he pistoned into Alucard, his world narrowing to just this moment. His son drank from him greedily as he was fucked, clutching at Dracula, taking each punishing thrust as Dracula’s pleasure spiraled out of control.

When it hit him, the orgasm all but turned him inside out, whiting out his vision and burning through him like pure chaos. When Dracula came to, still buried to the hilt in Alucard, the younger vampire wasn’t biting him any longer, merely licking at his neck lazily where the wound had been, his hands idly wandering Dracula’s back. He could smell the unsatiated desire in Alucard and see the hard cock arching over his belly.

“Alucard,” Dracula rasped, his voice more gravelly than usual, resting his elbow among the white halo of hair. Blood stained Alucard’s lips and chin a rosy red.

Dracula’s blood. The thing that tore both humans and demons apart gave Alucard life. His son was wrecked, chest heaving as if breath was something he needed, devastatingly beautiful. He was here of his own will; Dracula’s to fuck, to touch and bite. _His_. Growling, that endless heat spreading in his chest, filling him, taking his voice with the emotion it brought, Dracula leaned closer to his son. Alucard was perfect, entrenched in his physicality, trusting Dracula. Wanting him.

Reaching for Alucard’s eager cock, neglected for so long, he gave it a tight stroke. Dracula wasn’t sated, though. He hadn’t had his fill, wasn’t sure if he ever could.

Nudging Alucard’s face with his nose, he waited until he turned toward Dracula, understanding, lips seeking lips. Dracula could taste his frustration on Alucard’s tongue, felt it in the way he kept clenching about the cock inside him and the way his hips worked.

Chuckling, Dracula knew there was no need for such frustration. His body was an extension of his mind and did not succumb to human weaknesses the way Alucard’s did. He was hard when he wished to be hard. A gasp left his son as he made his body comply to his will now, filling within Alucard’s tight passage, pushing at his walls. Then he pulled out until just the tip remained clasped within that tight ring of muscle. Only then did he push back in, slow and deep, hitting the place inside Alucard that made him shudder, moan, and arch his beautiful body.

Dracula fucked him slowly, stroking his cock in time with his thrusts, watching, letting Alucard's orgasm build unhurriedly. His eyes fluttered as he pushed his head back into the mattress, the tendons of his neck standing out so the perfect arch was exposed to Dracula's gaze. His lips parted, white fangs peeking from between thin glossy lips. Dracula wanted to cut his tongue on their sharpness and breathe power into Alucard, so much that he would lose himself completely in it. Alucard was so handsome, body sliding up the bed with each thrust, straining to brace himself against the power of Dracula’s movements. Long fingers clutched at the sheets, reveling in the offered pleasure. His breath, sharp and rough, left him in a moan each time Dracula bottomed out.

When Alucard came, his body pulled tense as a bow and short sharp grunts left his throat. Dracula didn't stop thrusting, milking the last dregs of his come even as Alucard started squirming in oversensitive agony. Gripping the hard jut of Alucard’s hipbone, Dracula caught the hand grasping helplessly for the headboard and pinned it there, above Alucard’s head. The shift of his muscles, every twist and bunch, was fascinating. He never wanted it to end, wanted to see Alucard’s white hair stuck to his flushed skin for the rest of Dracula’s immortal life.

Bending over the straining body beneath him, putting more pressure on the captured hand, he pressed his lips to a smooth cheek, tasting salt from tears or sweat.

“Alucard...” Dracula’s voice was as wrecked as his son’s appearance. “I’m going to take you apart.” He pulled out slowly, making sure Alucard could feel every hard inch of him. “Piece,” he thrust in, torturously slowly. “By piece.”

Bottoming out, his eyes glazed over when Alucard clenched down on him, the pleasure wiping his mind of any thoughts but _Alucard_.

“You can’t,” Alucard gasped out, squirming under him, his long thighs sliding against Dracula’s hips.

Letting go of Alucard’s hip, Dracula caught his head in both hands, fingers digging into flushed cheeks. He forced Alucard’s mouth wide, his long fangs visible and glinting in the firelight, extended and wet; ready to bite.

“You are mine now,” Dracula rasped. “No going back from this.”

Quickening his pace, Dracula fucked Alucard steadily, each thrust forcing a huff out of Alucard’s oversensitive body. He slotted his lips against his son’s, breathing a miniscule amount of power into him. He had taken so much, expected to take even more. It was cruel to do so so soon, but Dracula did not care. All he cared about was seeing Alucard unmade, here in this bed, on his cock, by _him_.

Alucard’s cock responded, rubbing against Dracula as he squirmed. His breathing changed, shivers wracking his frame as he grew warm, his body trying to process the blood, the power, and arousal, distributing it anywhere it could. Dracula growled, bending Alucard in half, and thrust even faster, harder, aiming for that spot that made his son thrash beneath him.

His own heart was no longer cold, but alive and beating rapidly in his chest, the pleasure making even him pant like a human. There was no helping it; Alucard was so good, getting even tighter, and it felt incredible. The tight clutch, the scent of his sweat, the undeniable presence of him. Alucard’s free hand tangled in his hair, fingers digging in, and that slight pain only served to make it all the better for him.

When Alucard came, it was sudden and hard, his body arching up, head thrashing away from Dracula’s grip and the power he had been steadily breathing into him. His eyes were squeezed shut tightly, sweat glistening on his forehead, hair stuck wetly to his face, and he shouted, short and sharp, body rhythmically tensing up and relaxing. Dracula slowed down, gentling his thrusts, trying to milk Alucard’s orgasm out of him and tallying every minute expression on his face.

Eventually, each circle of Dracula's hips drew a mewl from Alucard, his hand still clutching Dracula’s hair for dear life. Alucard’s gold-on-black eyes fixed on him, the molten light glowing deep within them.

“You can’t take,” he stopped and swallowed, his throat clicking dryly, and Dracula wanted to put his fingers into his mouth, feel that slick tongue against the pads of his fingers, “what I already gave.”

This time, it was Dracula who lost his breath, the slowly building pleasure and heat inside him tightening into a force almost too powerful to bear.

“You can’t kn -”

“I can,” Alucard interrupted, his lips glistening as he glared at Dracula from beneath his messy hair. “I can and I have. I _chose_ you,” he snarled and, as much as the position wasn’t good for it, Alucard arched up and kissed Dracula hard, pushing his tongue past Dracula’s lips, and kissing him like he was starving for it. His hand untangled from Dracula’s hair and wormed between their bodies, long nails catching on Dracula’s heaving belly, releasing the strong scent of his own blood, and down to where they were still joined. His fingers were cool as he slid them around the girth of Dracula’s cock.

“Show me,” Alucard whispered as Dracula shuddered, his lips brushing Dracula’s. “Show me what your desire feels like.”

Dracula laughed brokenly, then bent his head to bury his nose in the sweaty neck that still bore faint traces of his bite.

“It’s like me,” he said, dragging the stubble on his face against the long neck offered to him so beautifully. He pulled back and thrust in, slow and deep, eliciting a shudder and a gasp from Alucard. “Merciless.”

Adjusting his balance, Dracula reached for his son’s soft cock, trapped between their bellies. He stroked it, feeling Alucard squirm and twist on him, thighs tensing and releasing against his sides with every thrust, and clutch at his shoulder as he tried to contain the sounds spilling from his lips. Dracula had no doubt it must hurt by now, too much stimulation, too much pleasure for someone as deeply entrenched in his physicality as Alucard, but he didn’t stop. He nibbled on that delectable neck and felt Alucard fighting against himself in the moments where he almost pushed Dracula away. Moments when the arm captive in his hand tensed, muscles flexing to fight against Dracula’s grip. Moments when the careful, conscious relaxation, the submission was so purposeful. Alucard was allowing him do whatever he wished to this body and it was almost too much. The pleasure, building for so long, burning his belly with it’s insatiable heat threatened to strip him of his control.

But he couldn't allow it. He hadn’t had enough yet. He needed to see Alucard come once more, needed to see him give in completely. Needed to feel Alucard submit to him again and again. That desire was stronger than the pleasure. Dracula fucked into Alucard slowly and surely, always hitting that spot inside him, bringing tears of pleasure to his eyes. His own pleasure was balancing on a knife’s edge, but he kept it there until Alucard was, somehow, hard again. Then he kept at it, his body hot and slick with sweat, dripping down his back and stinging the scorched left by Alucard’s long nails.

At last, his son came again. It wasn’t as intense as before, his orgasm weaker, leaving him exhausted and panting, cheeks damp with a few tears that had slipped out. He looked exhausted and wrecked, the most beautiful Dracula had ever seen. His belly was a mess, come smeared across his skin, chest heaving. His eyes were closed, half in pleasure, half in pain, and he moaned weakly. Not that it appeared he wanted Dracula to stop. No, his legs were still wrapped tightly about Dracula’s hips, his heels digging hard into Dracula's thighs, and his hand tangled in Dracula’s hair, pulling him into messy kisses that distorted the moans between them.

When another orgasm rolled over Dracula, as dizzying and burning as the first, he had to give up. Alucard looked wretched enough and it was no use. Dracula was unable to quench the desire running through his veins, burning like a bright star in his chest. One night could never slack his thirst for Alucard, nor could a year. He would break Alucard first, and so he reluctantly let go, pulling free. Alucard whimpered, but he merely opened his mouth over Alucard’s swollen lips and breathed power into him until he turned his face away.

“Too much,” Alucard whispered hoarsely.

Dracula didn’t protest, let him fall onto his side as an unfamiliar lassitude filled his body. Stretching out on the soiled bed behind Alucard, his eyelids felt heavy, his mind clearer than it had been in the last thousand years. Alucard twisted about, rearranged himself until he was draped about Dracula, his body covered in finger-sized bruises and faint scratches, sweat sticking his hair, to his skin and lips. Again, he was struck by how Alucard was the most stunning creature Dracula had ever laid eyes upon.

Reaching out, Dracula ran his hand over Alucard’s beautifully long neck, down to the defined chest, and over a bruised hip, before tugging him tighter to his side. Dracula's body was warm, forever flushed with the life he had stolen in battle, and Alucard settled, ceased wriggling closer, head pillowed on Dracula’s chest. Sliding his hand back up, Dracula slipped it into Alucard’s messy white hair and combed the soft locks with his fingers. There were so many questions he wanted to ask, but the words never came, the silence between them too soft to destroy with questions neither really wanted answers to.

Alucard shifted, sliding his naked leg between Dracula’s, his skin a little cooler. His hand rested just over the uneven beat of his heart.

“I want to sleep,” his son murmured, lashes tickling Dracula’s skin as his breath evened out and he drifted off. Dracula hadn’t slept in thousands of years, but here, with his son’s body relaxed in soft unconsciousness, he fell asleep.

* * *

It was Alucard raising from the bed that woke Dracula. He was disoriented at first, unaccustomed to being unaware of everything about him. Alucard was standing beside the bed naked, and for a brief moment, Dracula admired the remarkable breadth of his son’s shoulders, the cascade of white hair shining like silver in the low light. In the pure power in his frame. In the flickering candlelight, the faint shape of the bruises on his hips and thighs were still visible, along with a glimmering trail down the inside of his thigh.

Without a word, Dracula vanished; destroying his body and reforming it behind Alucard and catching hold of his hips.

“Don’t move,” he murmured, pressing his stubble to Alucard’s bared shoulder and scraping it across his skin.

Alucard shivered, but obeyed. Breathing deeply, Dracula could smell himself on his son's skin and groaned. He reached down, taking two palmfuls of perfectly shaped ass cheeks, and squeezed to enjoy the firmness of the muscles. Resting his cheek on Alucard’s shoulder, he slid his blunt fingers between them. Alucard hissed, hand flying to lock on Dracula’s wrist, but not actually stopping him as he traced the abused ring of muscle between each cheek. When Dracula pushed two fingers past it, Alucard gasped, but still didn’t stop him as his fingers slid in on oil and his own come. His son went onto his toes, head arching back, hair sliding over Dracula’s shoulder as he kept thrusting slowly into that well-used hole.

“ _Ah_ ,” Alucard gasped, squirming so Dracula wrapped his free arm around his waist to steady him, to keep him in place.

“Can you come like that?” he asked, pulling his fingers out to touch the slick trail of his own seed on the inside of Alucard’s thigh. Alucard shuddered and didn’t answer, prompting Dracula to return to his hole with three fingers. He forced them slowly through Alucard’s resistance, curling, looking for that place that made his son shiver, and smiled when he felt Alucard jerk in his hold. “On my fingers inside you?”

Alucard’s hand was still clenched tightly on Dracula’s wrist but his legs were spread, letting him take whatever he wanted. Twisting the opposite way, giving in, he bent his head forward, long hair hiding his face. Dracula pressed harder against that spot, circled his fingers, massaging pleasure into his son, making his breath hitch, making him gasp, and finally answer.

“Yes, _ah_ \- father, _yes_.”

Dracula bit carefully at the shoulder he was mouthing, not breaking the skin, just enjoying the flesh under his tongue. Alucard was tight and slick about his fingers, a little warm and swollen. This was the evidence of the pleasure Dracula had given him the night before; tangible proof of what had happened between them. His chest expanded with the fierce heat that Alucard awoke in him, this proof of their coupling.

Pulling his fingers out, he gathered slickness from Alucard’s thigh. There was something incredibly alluring in the evidence of his release dripping from his son, staining his thighs, marking him as Dracula’s on the basest, most primitive level.

Tucking three fingers together, he pressed them against the slick, slightly loose hole, circling it just to hear the shuddery gasp Alucard gave. Only then did he press in mercilessly, as deeply as they could, feeling the resistance and stretch of Alucard’s body before it gave in. Dracula relished the gasped, choked-off cry that his actions pushed out of Alucard, and he curled his fingers, deep as they were, finding and massaging that place that felt so good when stimulated. Alucard went tense, all the muscles of his back standing in sharp relief as he moaned.

The scent of sex grew thicker in the room, whetting Dracula's appetite once more. He bent over his son’s bowed back, dragging his lips, then his fangs over pale sweaty skin. He thrust his fingers in over and over, endlessly fascinated with the place that gave Alucard so much pleasure. Alucard was squirming, shifting from foot to foot in overstimulation, or maybe even pain. Dracula didn't stop, though, just thrust harder, enjoying that his own mind wasn’t hazy with pleasure this time, and he could watch Alucard come undone, come apart on just his fingers.

Slowly, Dracula let a miniscule amount of his Void power coalescence over the fingers he had in his son, stretching the abused hole. The Void was cold, coating his fingers in a thin layer of ice. Alucard jerked and groaned louder, pushing his hips back at Dracula. The ice melted momentarily, so he did it again and again. Each time, Alucard moaned like a mad creature, pushing his hips back at Dracula, spreading his legs a little wider. Dracula was so focused on what he was doing, on the way the salty skin of Alucard’s shoulders tasted against his lips, his stubbled cheek as he dragged it over the already reddened skin over and over, it took him a moment to catch on to the fact that Alucard had gotten hard _again_.

“Just on my fingers,” he rasped into Alucard’s ear, licking whatever skin he could reach. “Just like this.”

It didn't happen fast, or easily. Dracula kept fucking his fingers into the younger vampire, watching every minute twitch of his body, every muscle tensing. He scraped his beard across wide shoulders until they were pink and Alucard whimpered on each pass. Dracula never stopped the merciless torture of his fingers hitting that place inside his son. Not until he came, sweaty and moaning, exhausted and almost painfully beautiful.

Alucard fell limp in Dracula’s hold afterwards, his hand slipping from his wrist to dangle at his side. Dracula pressed his hips forward, his hard cock smearing a line of wetness against a pale thigh and shuddered. Desire curled fierce and hot in his belly once more. It wasn't enough. Nothing he did seemed to be enough. Some faint, rational part of his brain insisted that it was sufficient, that he should let Alucard rest before he broke him, and he regretfully pulled back, intending to back away. Then Alucard twisted in his hold, turning about, face to face. His hand slid between their bodies, finding Dracula’s hard cock and closing over it.

“Take your pleasure from me.” The words were half-growled, half-gasped as Alucard had yet to get his breathing under control.

Sliding his hands around Alucard’s back, down over his cheeks, then between, Dracula's fingers found the swollen furl of muscle he’d plundered, the place that had granted him so much pleasure. Alucard shivered at the touch, but did not let go.

“I don’t want to break you,” Dracula murmured, still mesmerised by Alucard’s beauty and the bruises he had left behind; the evidence of his own pleasure.

Alucard tossed his head, throwing the hair out of his golden gaze, and stared at Dracula.

“Then I’ll heal.”

Fearless and steady, there was not a shred of doubt in his voice and Dracula laughed, leaning down to leave a series of small bites over Alucard’s shoulder and neck.

“Guide me in,” he whispered, firm muscles jumping under the wet touch of his lips.

Alucard exhaled, long and loud, then shifted to do just that. He swung his leg over Dracula's hip, then guided his cock right to his entrance. It would have taken away Dracula’s breath - if he’d had any to give - as Alucard pressed Dracula’s swollen head to the sensitive loose furl of muscle. They both groaned as Dracula pushed in, his cock breaching Alucard easily, body no longer resisting the intrusion after being fucked so many times.

Dracula didn’t hurry, letting himself feel the slide of Alucard’s inner walls against his engorged cock. Each time he pushed in, there was a slick, obscene sound joining the tiny gasps his son was making every time he pushed in, as the mess leaked out of Alucard. Head falling back, Alucard’s arms flew around his neck, clutching Dracula as he had no other support. Dracula could feel each breath as it was torn from his son, the pulse throbbing in his throat, his nipples hard and peaked, rising with every inhale. He slid his hands down Alucard’s belly, to his soft, spent cock and cupped it, feeling it twitch helplessly each time he hit the sensitive nerve bundle in Alucard..

The pleasure built slowly, suffusing his whole being, filling him from the tips of his fingers down to his toes; warming his heart. He dragged it on until he was panting, as if after a long battle, sweat sticking his own hair to his skin, to Alucard’s, and gathering in beads in the dip of Alucard’s throat. The white hair had turned dark with sweat, his sounds as mindless as Dracula felt. Then he tangled his hand in those wet locks, pulled Alucard up far enough to kiss him, deep and dirty, as he spent himself, scorching him with the heat of his release.

* * *

Dracula stood on a balcony of his Castle, intending to watch the humans who called the ruins of his city home. He had yet to decide if he should raze their creation to the ground and rebuild his own city, filling it with creatures of darkness, or if he should leave God’s creatures alone as they would destroy themselves even without his help. He might be the Lord of Darkness, but it didn’t mean he needed to actually act. Evil was irreversibly rooted in the hearts of men. The natural order would prevail, evil would triumph over and over...

His focus was pulled back, away from the city, to the small grassy courtyard Alucard had cleaned to create a small training area for himself. He used Dracula’s enchanted armors and the occasional demon as a sparring partner, honing his skills against different types of weaponry, magic, and elemental powers. He wasn’t wearing his armored coat for simple training. Instead, he had adopted modern human clothing. Alucard was wearing only soft, clingy pants, the kind humans used for exercise. Dracula had to admit they appeared more obscene that outright nakedness. The clingy, stretchy material did nothing to hide the shape of Alucard’s legs, hugging each and every curve, and highlighting his muscles as he shifted from attack to parry.

It was strange how many new things had started showing up in the Castle recently. Alucard would become fascinated with one thing or another and insist it was included into the Castle. There was even a modern bathroom near Dracula’s bedchamber with a huge shower stall that easily fit two men as large as them. He had never been interested in the things humans delighted in creating, but even he had to admit it was a pleasant method of getting clean.

Alucard was training with double swords this time, the Crissaegrim resting on the stone dais Dracula had called into being for that purpose. As expected, the way his son handled the two blades was alluring; the utter calm in his face as he parried elemental ice attacks. Perhaps it was the flair to his fighting; a showmanship so subtle it looked accidental as well as pleasing to the eye. Either way, his son was growing as a warrior, Dracula’s blood making him stronger and faster. The steady supply of blood and power had changed his coloring as well. Instead of the ghoulish, dark grey, he was merely pale. His lips faintly pink, instead of black. His eyes, however, remained golden pupils on black sclera. The scars on his face had nearly faded away, leaving behind smooth, healthy skin.

Dracula watched as Alucard jumped from an ice blast and used his magic to augment the next slash so fast it had to be instinctual now. The corner of his lip pulled up as he reached into the Castle, into himself, and twisted, changing the essence of the enchanted armor Alucard was fighting against. When the attack missed Alucard and hit the ground, it didn't freeze the way Alucard expected but shattered, the earth spell ripping through the ground and plunging everything downward into freezing cold water. He would swear he saw the surprised curse leave Alucard’s lips as he fell into the pool below.

Dracula disintegrated his body, solidifying as he reached the pool of water. He slipped into its icy depths, until he caught Alucard trying to swim to the surface. Before he could react, he pressed his lips to pale ones. Alucard allowed the kiss - even if Dracula could feel irritation pouring off of him in waves - and responded in kind, tangling his hands in Dracula’s hair, even as his legs kept kicking, carrying them both up until they breached the surface again.

Dracula had no intention of being wet any longer, so he disintegrated his body again, reforming at the edge of the pool, his body dry and warm, not a drop of water on his clothes.

“That was uncalled for,” Alucard declared, still treading water, his anger mollified. His son always reacted favorably to his touch, so he employed that tactic often. It wasn’t as if he didn’t enjoy it either, after all.

Dracula scratched the base of his nose, shrugging his shoulders.

“Accident,” he lied, spreading his hands innocently. “Those obscene pants distracted me.”

Alucard rolled his eyes.

“They are weight-lifting pants, which you very well know, and I do not believe a word you say.”

Alucard eyed the distance he needed to swim to reach the edge of the pool, then Dracula, and finally burst into a swarm of bats that screeched their offense the entire time it took them to fly to the edge and reform back into the familiar shape of his son.

A completely _wet_ shape of his son.

Dracula couldn’t contain the huff of silent laughter at the expression on Alucard's face when he realised that he was still soaking. Unlike Dracula, Alucard was very much in tune with his body, believing it to work the same as it did for a human. It made sex with him fantastic, the sensations so strong and alive it blew his mind each and every time, but disrupted Alucard’s teleportation ability something fierce. While he had no problem reforming his body and was better at shape-shifting, there were moments like now where he could dismantle his body and recreate it, but did it very literally. Including all the water on his person.

“Not a word,” Alucard warned and turned, stomping back into the Castle in search of another pair of pants. Dracula watched him go, lips quirked, and was struck with a realization that wiped the smile right off his face, surprise silencing even the ever-present howl of rage in his heart.

He was happy.

After killing Satan and effectively taking his place, he’d expected to eventually follow in the monster’s steps, the power corrupting him than it already had. He didn’t feel any different, though. He actually felt more human and calmer than he had since he’d been merely a child. The power hadn’t changed him because he had something Satan had never had: he was loved.

And he loved in return.


End file.
